


At Samhain

by ZairaA



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Ghosts, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Post-Finale, Samhain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-21
Updated: 2014-10-21
Packaged: 2018-02-22 01:24:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2489288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZairaA/pseuds/ZairaA
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At Samhain the veil between the worlds is at its thinnest. So thin that spirits can pass through if they are determined enough. Arthur has never been anything but determined.</p>
            </blockquote>





	At Samhain

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rotrude](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rotrude/gifts).



> For the prompt: Lead up to their first kiss. And inspired further by the October theme at tavern tales.
> 
> Dearest rotrude, I know this took me ages and I'm so sorry for that. Also, I really tried to write you something, well, more light-hearted. I started about three things but they all went nowhere. If you hate it, I promise I'll try again!

'' _Merlin_. What in the gods name are you doing?''  
  
For a moment Merlin freezes. Then he turns around and, yes, there he is. Golden. Glorious. Exasperated. Just like he has always been.  
  
''Arthur,'' Merlin breathes, watching this perfect vision of his dead king with an overwhelming mixture of longing and grief, turning uncertain when Arthur just stands there, looking at him expectantly, ''Is this another dream?''  
  
''I don't know, Merlin,'' Arthur says with just the right amount of mocking to twist Merlin's heart. ''Do you often dream about living in a hovel?''  
  
''Its not a hovel!''  
  
The indignant objection comes instinctively, prompting Arthur – or the vision of him, more likely - to raise an eyebrow in a rather eloquent reply. The familiarity of it leaves Merlin breathless.  
  
''All right, it is...'' Merlin trails off as he looks around himself, taking in his surroundings almost as if he was seeing them for the first time. As if he was seeing them through someone else's eyes. The warped walls made out of sticks and mud and magic. The pile of moss and moth-eaten blankets that makes up his bed and the tree stumps that serve as, well, something to sit upon. ''… close to a hovel, I guess,'' he amends after a moment.  
  
Arthur's eyebrows climb even higher. ''You guess?''  
  
''I don't usually pay it much attention.''  
  
Arthur rolls his eyes and Merlin congratulates and curses his subconsciousness in equal measure for making this illusion seem so particularly real.  
  
''Which brings me back to my original question,'' Merlin's hallucination picks up the conversation, disregarding the twisting sensation of a knife in his chest. ''What are you doing here? Why aren't you in Camelot?''  
  
Merlin blinks confused. ''Camelot.''  
  
''Yes, Merlin. Camelot.'' And now Arthur falters a little. ''I mean... I cant imagine Gwen would send you away. She... she didn't, did she?''  
  
''I wouldn't know.'' Merlin shrugs. ''I never went back.''  
  
''What do you mean?'' Arthur stares at him uncomprehendingly, which is a little weird because he should know all this. Merlin's own mind isn't normally this obnoxious.  
  
''I can never go back there,'' he explains, swallowing hard as his throat closes up. Putting the obvious into words really shouldn't hurt that much, but it's been a while since he talked to anyone, even to himself. ''Not... not without... you.''  
  
Tears are prickling at the corners of his eyes and Merlin decides he really has enough of this weird dream now, thank you very much. He turns back to sit by the fire, poking at it aimlessly. It's not like he didn't have visions of what he's lost before. Dreams, daydreams, hallucinations... at this point it hardly makes a difference.  
  
He startles when a hand suddenly settles on his shoulder, because his daydreams are seldom so vivid. They don't come with the warmth and weight of human touch.    
  
Nor are they so mundane. Usually, the Arthur of his imagination comes to blame him. Or, when Merlin's mind is especially indulgent, to forgive him. Once he even smiled at him - that crooked, slightly constipated looking one that Arthur used when he would tell Merlin he was a good servant. A good friend. Waking up from that one had nearly killed him.  
  
But somehow tonight is different. All this Arthur does is sit down next to Merlin with a heavy sigh and stare into the fire. The dancing light of the flames is glinting on the golden shock of hair and painting Arthur's face in shadows and angles. The beauty of it is breathtaking and painful and yet Merlin can't take his eyes away.  
  
He had forgotten how prone Arthur has always been to this kind of brooding, and the thought makes him choke on another sob, because how could he have forgotten that? How can it be that even the tiniest minute detail of Arthur could ever slip his mind? It hasn't been that long, has it? Months maybe... Merlin hasn't paid much attention to the passage of time either. Not when every day is a struggle to keep breathing, to keep moving, to just keep living.  
  
''I miss you so much,'' he croaks out, tears blurring the flames in front of him. He can be honest with his own illusions, if nothing else.  
  
There's a long moment of silence until Arthur clears his throat. His gaze briefly flickers in Merlin's direction before he quietly says, ''I miss you, too.''  
  
The words are so unexpected that Merlin turns to the hallucination in mortified surprise.  
  
''Arthur would never say that,'' he scolds himself and is rewarded with the sight of his king pulling a face before looking away, shifting on the tree stump uncomfortably. ''Yeah, well... dying gives you a new perspective.''  
  
Merlin blinks. Because that's another thing his illusions never do. They don't acknowledge the very thing Merlin wishes he could forget. He almost feels a little betrayed.  
  
''This must be the strangest hallucination I've ever had,'' he mumbles, shaking his head.  
  
Arthur huffs out a laugh. ''I don't even want to know what kind of things your idiot mind usually comes up with.'' Then he adds, ''And I'm not a hallucination.''  
  
Merlin nods, deciding it's probably the best to let his subconsciousness have its way for now. It's not like he has any other plans for the evening. ''So what are you then, exactly?'' he inquires conversationally, only for Arthur to shoot him an uncertain look all of a sudden.  
  
''I don't really know. I'm not a proper spirit, apparently. So at first they didn't want to let me through.''  
  
''Through where?''  
  
''The veil.''  
  
Merlin's heart skitters, stumbles, then jumps into his throat. ''The veil... between the worlds?'' It can't be. The thought alone is too breathtaking and too cruel.  
  
''Yes. As I'm sure you know, it's at its thinnest today. So thin that spirits can pass through. If they are determined enough.''  
  
Arthur has always been the very epitome of determination.

''I had not even realised...'' Merlin mumbles. ''It's Samhain?''  
  
Arthur inclines his head.  
  
''Then...'' Merlin swallows hard. His heart is hammering painfully against his ribs and there is not enough breath in his lungs any longer. He doesn't dare to believe and he's almost too scared to ask, afraid it will banish the illusion, but he can't make himself stop.  
  
''Are... are you really here?'' His voice trembles and it's barely a whisper that comes out when he speaks next. ''Arthur... is... is this really you?''  
  
There's silence, and Merlin holds his breath for what feels like eternity before he dares to look up again. Arthur is smiling at him, lopsided and fond and a little bit embarrassed. It feels like the first sunrise after Camlann.  
  
Merlin can't help himself then, he reaches for this glorious apparition, sinking to his knees on the damp earth. His brain catches up only when his fingers smooth over the links of Arthur's chainmail. His eyes widen, and he meets Arthur's eyes in shocked incomprehension.  
  
''How is it possible that I can feel you?'' he whispers.  
  
Arthur shrugs uncertainly. ''I don't know. You tell me. You are the one who knows all about magic.''  
  
Merlin shakes his head. ''If you're a ghost, I shouldn't be able to...''  
  
He grabs Arthur's gloved hand then, holds it with both of its own, reverend if disbelieving.  It's warm under Merlin's cold fingers and he sucks in the familiar smell of worn leather, the faint hint of sweat, and doesn't even think before he presses it to his face, eyes closing against a fresh wave of tears.  
  
''I don't understand. If you're a ghost, I shouldn't be able to touch you.''  
  
''Like I said. I'm not a proper spirit, apparently.''  
  
''Then what are you?''  
  
''I honestly don't know, Merlin. I... I think I've been sleeping, maybe. It feels as if I've been sleeping. Or as if I've been sick and feverish for a long time, barely conscious enough to realise my surroundings. I don't remember much after...''  
  
''You died. Arthur... you died!''  
  
And now the tears are running down his cheeks unchecked, there is no way to hold them back and Merlin doesn't have the strength to care what Arthur might be thinking of him. If he's going to chide him that no man deserves Merlin's tears then he will clobber him around the head.  
  
But Arthur does no such thing. He looks at Merlin with unfathomable blue eyes, brighter than they have any right to be in the light of the fire, and then Arthur's thumb gently swipes along Merlin's cheek.  
  
''I know.''  
  
The last of Merlin's strength leaves him. He's been holding on by a thread ever since he watched the boat float out into the mists of the lake, taking away what little there remained of the king, the man, the friend Merlin had loved and worshipped with all his heart. He buries his face against Arthur's knees and sobs.  
  
He doesn't know how long he's been sitting there, tremors wrecking his body, while he is clinging to whatever fabric his fingers can reach.  
  
It takes him a while to register the light, hesitant strokes along the back of his head. His breath shudders and Merlin falls still, but the broad palm of a hand keeps smoothing his hair in a soothing rhythm that Merlin is sure he hasn't known since he was a child.  
  
When Merlin finally looks up, Arthur looks uncertain, his hand still paused in mid-stroke, as if he's waiting to be laughed at or admonished. But Merlin can only smile at him, tearful but wide, too shaken to hide any of the emotions he's sure must be plain for Arthur to see. He wipes at his eyes, trying to push away the embarrassment that creeps up his neck with a hot blush, and his next words are as much a need for distraction as an honest inquiry.  
  
''So... what are you doing here? Why did you... I mean... why _here_? Why are you not...?''  
  
 _With Gwen_ , he doesn't say. Doesn't need to. It should be obvious.  
  
''Where else would I be?'' Arthur asks mildly and it's such an unusual tone for Arthur that Merlin lets out a surprised laugh.  
  
Then it's his turn to raise an eyebrow in silent challenge, and Arthur sighs, looking briefly to the side before he mumbles, ''It's not Gwen who's living in a hovel and has lost five stones when there wasn't even one to spare.''  
  
Merlin blinks. ''You... were worried about me?''  
  
Arthur scoffs immediately. ''Don't be ridiculous, Merlin.''  
  
And it might be the light of the fire but Merlin would swear there's something like a blush on Arthur's cheeks.  
  
Merlin grins and the familiarity once more hits him like a mace. A few months ago he would have made use of this to tease Arthur mercilessly, needle him like no one else would ever dare until Arthur would throw something at him, horrendously off aim for someone so skilled in any form of combat. And Arthur is looking at him almost expectantly now, as if he, too, is waiting for Merlin to play his part. Merlin opens his mouth, but then closes it again without a sound. Because what ever this is, even if it's not an illusion of his own making, there is one thing that is most certainly real.  
  
Arthur died. And with him Merlin's whole world crumbled.  
  
Nothing will ever be the same again.  
  
And since then, there hasn't been a day that Merlin didn't wish he would get another chance to tell Arthur... so many things he never said.  
  
''I'm so glad you're here,'' Merlin whispers. ''And I want you to know... I _need_ you to know how sorry I am.''  
  
''Sorry?'' Arthur frowns. ''What for?''  
  
''For all those years I lied to you...''  
  
''I know why you did that,'' Arthur interrupts him, shaking his head. ''Why you thought you had to.''  
  
''For all the times I let you down...''  
  
''When did you ever let me down, Merlin? I mean, yes, you were rather abysmal with your duties as a servant but...''  
  
''For not being able to save you!''  
  
Arthur stills. And when he finally speaks his voice is so full of understanding and tenderness and something that Merlin dares not give a name to but that nevertheless warmth him through and through. ''But you did, Merlin. You always did. More than you know.''  
  
Merlin shakes his head, wild denial surging up inside him. ''It wasn't supposed to be this way! You were supposed to rule, to enjoy the kingdom you created. The peace you wrought. You weren't supposed to...''  
  
''Die?''  
  
''To leave me!''  
  
''Merlin...''  
  
''I don't know what to do without you! I was made for you. Just for you!''  
  
Strong hands grab Merlin by the upper arms. ''Merlin.''  
  
''It should have been me! I was supposed to protect you!''  
  
He's pulled upwards, lifted, and for a moment he thinks Arthur will shake him or push him away or... but instead lips press against his. Warm and dry and forceful. One of Arthur's hands sneaks up to cup his neck while his other arm wraps around Merlin's back to hold him steady, and Merlin's trembling. Trembling in Arthur's strong arms, breath ghosting against his skin, their foreheads touching.  
  
''I am your king, Merlin. And you might be too stubborn to see that, but it has always been _my_ duty to protect _you_. Just like the rest of Camelot. I died doing that, we achieved what we were dreaming of. I don't know if I could have asked for more.''  
  
The tears that fall now are silent, but Arthur notices them anyway, shakes his head with a smile and presses another kiss against Merlin's lips.  
  
''Just... Merlin. I want you to know, that... had there ever been the chance... if I could have had _anything_... it would have been this. It would have been you. Like this. With me.''  
  
It's Merlin who presses forwards this time, who opens his mouth and licks against Arthur's lips until he can slip his tongue in between. Their kiss tastes like tears and loss and so many regrets, but when Arthur pulls Merlin closer and Merlin wraps his arms around Arthur's neck, it also tastes like hope and beginnings and forever.  
  
''Promise me to hold on,'' Arthur whispers after what feels like a lifetime.  
  
''Promise me to come back,'' Merlin croaks, fingers clawing and tugging at Arthur's hair and cloak.  
  
''I will. I'll try.''  
  
''I have always loved you. Only you.''  
  
Arthur doesn't say anything, but the tenderness of his kiss says more than words ever could.  
  
When the first light of dawn creeps up over the horizon and the shadows recede, Arthur starts to fade. His body becomes transparent and his warmth dissolves as if on a breeze. Merlin holds on until his arms are empty. Then he gets up and walks out into the new morning, turning his steps towards the sunrise.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic]At Samhain](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3489545) by [readbyjela (jelazakazone)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jelazakazone/pseuds/readbyjela)




End file.
